The silence of the workspace was comforting, almost soothing, as Yogi leaned over the console. The new error pulsed faintly, a soft rhythm that seemed to call out to him. He’d thought he’d feel overwhelmed again, but something had shifted. Instead of fear, there was a cautious resolve. He’d fixed one error; maybe he could fix another.

  He traced the flow of energy on the console, the patterns clearer now than they had been before. This time, the error was tied to a young boy and his best friend. The energy between them was brittle, fractured by betrayal. Yogi’s chest tightened as the images unfolded: the boy had stolen something precious to his friend, and their bond had shattered as a result. Guilt and anger tangled their threads, creating a rift that neither had the courage to bridge.

  Yogi closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. The emotions were raw, almost tangible, but he didn’t let them overwhelm him. Instead, he focused on the threads, visualizing how they might be mended. His hands moved over the console, guiding the energy with a growing confidence. The brittle threads began to soften, their glow brightening as the connection between the two boys started to heal.

  He could feel the ripple effect even before it spread. The energy in the surrounding nodes grew steadier, more harmonious. When the error finally resolved, Yogi leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. He had done it again.

  “Not bad,” a voice said behind him, startling him. He turned to see Photon materializing, their glow a soft teal. “You’re learning.”

  “I’m trying,” Yogi replied, his tone cautious. He wasn’t sure if Photon’s words were a compliment or another veiled jab.

  Photon’s glow flickered, their tone less sharp than usual. “You’re doing more than trying. That was a clean correction. But don’t let it go to your head. You’ve still got a long way to go.”

  Yogi nodded, the small spark of pride in his chest tempered by the reminder of the enormity of his task. “I get it. One step at a time, right?”

  Photon’s glow deepened, almost as if they were smiling. “Exactly.”

  As the hours passed, Yogi found himself pulled deeper into the rhythm of the system. Errors appeared on the console, each one unique, each one a challenge. Some were small, quick fixes that barely required thought. Others were complex, tangled webs of energy that demanded every ounce of focus he could muster.

  Root stayed close, offering guidance and encouragement when needed. His presence was a steadying force, a reminder that Yogi wasn’t alone in this. Even Photon, for all their sharp edges, seemed to ease up, their critiques tempered with the occasional word of praise.

  But Grimace was another story. The insectoid’s mandibles clicked with thinly veiled disdain whenever he appeared, his multifaceted eyes watching Yogi’s every move. “You’re improving,” he admitted grudgingly after one particularly tricky correction. “But don’t mistake progress for competence. One mistake could undo everything you’ve fixed.”

  Yogi bristled at the words but held his tongue. He knew Grimace wasn’t entirely wrong. The system was fragile, and his understanding of it was still shallow. But he also knew he couldn’t let fear paralyze him. Mistakes were inevitable. What mattered was learning from them.

  Between corrections, Yogi found himself drawn back to the Soul Reflection Pool. The shimmering surface rippled with images from his past, moments he hadn’t thought about in years. Some were painful, others bittersweet, but all of them carried a quiet significance.

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  He saw himself as a child, comforting a friend who had fallen and scraped their knee. He saw the day he’d stayed late at work to help a coworker meet a deadline, even though it meant missing his favorite TV show. He saw the time he’d defended a stranger being harassed on the subway, his voice shaking but steady.

  “These moments matter,” Root had told him, and now he was starting to believe it. They weren’t grand gestures, but they were threads in the tapestry of his life, small acts of kindness and courage that had shaped who he was.

  As he stared into the pool, a new image began to form. It was his mother, her face lined with worry as she sat by his hospital bed. He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered the last conversation they’d had, an argument over something trivial that now seemed utterly meaningless.

  “I wish I could tell her I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

  “Maybe you can,” Root said, appearing beside him. Yogi jumped, startled by the sudden presence.

  “I thought you said I can’t go back,” Yogi said, his brow furrowing.

  “You can’t,” Root replied, his tone gentle. “But the energy of this place flows through everything. Sometimes, if you focus hard enough, you can send ripples back. It won’t be the same as speaking to her, but she’ll feel it. She’ll know.”

  Yogi’s throat tightened. “How?”

  Root gestured to the pool. “Focus on her thread. Visualize the connection you had. Then let your energy flow into it. She’ll sense your intent, even if she doesn’t understand it fully.”

  Taking a deep breath, Yogi leaned over the pool. The image of his mother grew clearer, her thread glowing faintly among the countless others. He reached out, his fingers brushing the surface of the water. A warmth spread through him as he focused on the connection, pouring his apology and love into the thread. The glow intensified, then faded gently, like a candle burning low.

  When he pulled back, he felt lighter, as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had been lifted.

  Days turned into weeks—or at least, what felt like weeks. Time in the workspace was fluid, its passage marked only by the steady rhythm of the system. Yogi continued to learn, each correction deepening his understanding of the karmic flow. He began to see patterns where before there had been chaos, connections where there had been disarray.

  But the work was far from easy. Some errors resisted his efforts, their threads tangled so tightly that even Root struggled to guide him. Others carried emotional weights that left him drained, their intensity a stark reminder of the fragility of human connections.

  One particularly difficult correction involved a family torn apart by a bitter inheritance dispute. The threads were knotted with anger and resentment, their energy dark and heavy. Yogi spent hours—or maybe days—carefully untangling the threads, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he relived the family’s pain.

  When he finally resolved the error, he collapsed onto the floor, his energy spent. Root crouched beside him, offering a hand to help him up.

  “You did good,” Root said, his voice soft. “That wasn’t an easy one.”

  “It doesn’t feel like enough,” Yogi admitted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “There’s always more.”

  Root nodded. “There is. But that doesn’t mean what you’ve done doesn’t matter. Every thread you mend makes the system stronger. Every life you touch creates ripples that spread farther than you can see.”

  Yogi sighed, his gaze drifting to the endless expanse of the workspace. “I just… I wish I could see the bigger picture. To know if it’s really making a difference.”

  Root’s smile was gentle. “You will. In time. For now, trust that you’re on the right path.”

  Late one evening—or what felt like evening—Yogi found himself alone, staring at the console. A new error had appeared, its glow soft but insistent. He traced the patterns, his movements steady and confident. This one was simpler than the others, a minor imbalance between two coworkers who had misunderstood each other’s intentions.

  As he corrected the flow, he thought about his own journey. He wasn’t the same person who had arrived here, overwhelmed and uncertain. He still had doubts, still felt the weight of the system pressing down on him, but he was beginning to understand his place within it